


let us go then, you and i

by ohmygodwhy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Growing Up Together, M/M, Relationship Study, Self-Destructive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygodwhy/pseuds/ohmygodwhy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“i kinda wanna learn,’ he had said, spread out on the grass under the stars with his eyes trained on the sky. </p><p>“…me too,” hajime replied.</p><p>(seven facts about oikawa tooru)</p>
            </blockquote>





	let us go then, you and i

**Author's Note:**

> so, i originally wrote this for haikyuuweek on tumblr (even though i told myself i wasn't gonna get back into volleyball gays but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ here i am)
> 
> this is my first time writing these characters, so i really hope i did them justice?? bc....they are Very Important to me

 

**i.** when they were young— younger— oikawa and iwaizumi walked to and from school together.

he wasn’t quite sure when it began. 

(“i’m tooru,” he had said, wide free smile and grubby outstretched hand, dirty from swinging off the monkey bars and landing on his hands and knees, “oikawa tooru,”) 

(hajime’s hand was dirtier, blisters on his palms from climbing the trees at the park too many times and grasping the handle of his butterfly catching net a little too tightly. they fit together easily.)

when they were young, they would walk side by side with backpacks heavy on their shoulders down that dusty road, and oikawa would talk, and iwaizumi would listen more than talk, and that was fine, that was preferred. 

iwaizumi liked it that way— he was bad at making friends, because to make friends you had to talk a lot, and he wasn’t good at that yet. oikawa did the talking— a girl at school, something he’d seen on tv the night before, something that happened in class.

and it was on the side of that dusty road that they found, when they were six years old and excitable, their first old deflated volleyball. 

oikawa named it after himself. 

 

**ii.** when they’re old enough, middle school, tiny little heads in a sea of new uncertain students, they try out for the school volleyball team.

(“i kinda wanna learn,” tooru had said, spread out on the grass under the stars with eyes trained on the sky.

“…me too,” hajime replied, hands tucked under his head.)

(hours and hours of fumbling around and trying to coordinate their bodies. looking up rules and watching videos and trying to figure out how the hell to get that high, how the hell to twist in midair like that, because  _ “we’re gonna be the best new recruits they have next year. they’ll have to let us in,” _ all motivated and certain.

_ “i wanna learn how to serve, _ ” and hit after hit after hit and a short cry of pain when tooru made contact with the ball wrong and bent his fingers back. and then tried to hit it again.

hajime caught his wrist mid swing. “you’re gonna hurt your stupid fingers, idiot,” 

“they don’t even h— ow!”)

tooru messes up on his first attempt to serve. he jumps wrong, and the ball hits the net.

hajime does not. 

(“maybe you should spike, iwa-chan,” ball tossed up and down carelessly in the harsh summer air, “i think you’d be a good spiker. i bet you could serve better than me, too. i kinda wanna try setting.”)

he’s kinda surprised, because tooru is the one with all the flare packed into his little frame, but his friend just runs up and throws his arm around him, all proud and happy.

they both make it onto the team.

 

**iii.** oikawa really likes space.

he has some of those glow in the dark stars decorating his ceiling, for nights when it’s too hot or cold to stare up at the real thing. he has several sites about it, about aliens, about theories, about conspiracy theories (??), about stars and astrology (“god, iwa-chan, you’re being such a gemini.”) bookmarked on his computer.

(“all these conspiracies are just gonna get you all paranoid,” hajime says one day, because the other has been prattling on about something or other for close to an hour now and he’s trying to study.

“that’s what they  _ want,” _ tooru says matter-of-factly, “you can’t succumb to—“

hajime throws his shoe at him to get him to shut up.)

hajime knows he likes a lot of things, but space tops the list (almost, the volleyball in the corner of the room standing out just right).

(“y’know,” one day at practice, so close to finishing middle school, moments after hajime’s feet hit the floor, “when you jump like that and get all serious, you actually look pretty cool.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” 

tooru shrugs, “it’s like… there’s this weird little glint in your eye— like a star! and you’re way up high, like you’re floating through the sky or something.”

and then he’s running off to go get another ball, and hajime is left feeling odd. the compliment makes itself comfortable under his skin.) 

 

**iv.** “guess where i got accepted!” halfway through the summer before their first year of high school, walking down that dusty road, “guess where! guess, guess!”

“grade school again?” 

“you’re so rude!” tooru cuts in front of him and shoves a piece of paper in his face.  _ aoba johsai,  _ it says at the top, all big fancy print across the page. 

hajime takes the paper and stares at it for a moment, because… this is a top notch school, the real damn deal, the highest up there in terms of skill right under shiratorizawa. he wishes he could say he’s surprised, but he’s not. as annoying as he is, his friend is the right kind of person for that kind of place.

“…huh.” he says.

“‘’ _ huh’ _ ? that’s all you have to say?”

hajime shrugs, and ignores the sinking feeling in his chest. he applied too, months ago, but he hasn’t heard anything back. 

there’s a very large chance they won’t be going to the same high school. 

“i’m not surprised,” he says, “i was pretty sure you’d make it in. so… good job, i guess.”

there’s silence, and then: “awwh, thanks iwa-chan. that’s so sweet.” 

“don’t make fun of me, asshole.”

“i’m not, i’m not.” another pause, “i’m just waiting for your acceptance letter to hurry up and get here already. i can’t celebrate by myself.”

hajime blinks. and laughs. “i’m sure you’d find a way.” 

“what’s  _ that _ supposed to mean!?”

(he gets a letter with the words  _ aoba johsai _ printed on the front of it in that fancy font.)

(they celebrate with too much cake and some tears of relief and overwhelming excitement under the stars.)

 

**v.** oikawa is extremely full of himself.

they grow into their bodies and practice until their arms and legs are burning. and as they grow up, things get more important. it’s not just middle school practice or hitting the ball to each other in the park and scraping their knees when they fall. 

things get important, and they get sort of important too. they grow, and they improve, they get stronger. and people start to take notice. 

seijou is already a well known school in terms of volleyball. the amount of support they have at a single game is pretty damn impressive. and oikawa is a powerful player, with a dramatic flare and a practiced way of turning his head so his hair bounces just right (hajime had caught him practicing in front of the mirror once.)

oikawa had always been dramatic anyways, with spinning arms and over the top serves, and all this sudden importance has done wonders more for his ego.

and it’s annoying as hell?? suddenly getting caught up flirting with a girl before a game instead of warming up like he should be? prancing around with an air of ridiculous confidence? and all of the sudden hajime’s the designated Oikawa Detector— he’s the only one who can boss him around, really. 

it’s annoying as hell. 

(he finds him after hours in the gym, the night after they lost a game, practicing, serving and spiking and setting to no one. there’s confidence, but there’s also anger. frustration. unshakable determination. 

he’s heaving, out of breath and obviously tired, arms faintly shaking, and he throws a ball into the air and sends it to the ground hard, ignoring the way he almost loses his footing. hajime doesn’t ignore it.

“what are you still doing here?” he asks, and tooru jumps, “go home and sleep, dumbass.” 

a shrug, “not tired,”

“you look like hell.”

“you don’t have to be so  _ rude _ about it, jeez.” 

he sighs, too tired to be annoyed, “seriously, go home and go to bed. you look like you’re gonna pass out or something.”

“i’m not tired,” he says again, “really.”

he thinks the loss is his fault, hajime thinks, can see it in the way he stands and the way he won’t make eye contact. 

instead of saying anything about it, he says: “yeah you are. you can practice tomorrow. go home.” 

this time, the idiot listens.)

 

**vi.** oikawa injures his right knee in their second year.

it’s one of the only things that gets him to slow down, because he never slows down, and he hardly takes breaks. 

the knee thing scares him and it scares hajime and it scares the team, the coach, and he watches two games from the sidelines and doesn’t go to practice for a week and gets a brand new knee supporter to wear whenever he plays.

it scares him, but it doesn’t slow him down for long, because he  _ never slows down _ , and he hardly takes breaks, and that’s an admirable thing, and sometimes a bad bad thing. 

there are (too many) nights where they’re in the gym well into the early hours of the morning, because if hajime leaves him there alone he probably won’t go home at all, and there are (too many) nights where tooru can’t seem to catch his breath or he trips over himself and keeps on going, keeps on moving, and it’s so frustrating. 

it’s so frustrating and so aggravating because the idiot barely seems to realize how stupid it is, pushing himself way, way past where he should be pushing himself, so frustrating because the idiot barely seems to realize how lost he gets in it.

(“i have to be able to carry the team,” he’ll say, “how can i be your captain if i can’t do that properly?”

“we  _ are _ the team,” he’ll reply, “and if we think you can carry us, then stop whining and do it, because you’re good enough.)

(“one of these days,” he says, he yells, way after hours a week after he almost _ breaks his goddamn knee _ , the collar of his shirt tight in his fist, “you’re gonna run yourself into the goddamn ground. and even though you may not take the team with you, who the  _ hell  _ is gonna carry us if you fall?”

and tooru is alarmingly, _ annoyingly _ quiet, and hajime is  _ angry  _ because god, he’s going to run and jump and serve until he drops and then pick himself up and do it all over again.

“…sorry.” tooru says. 

and hajime sure as hell hopes so.)

 

**vii.** their team is strong. 

their team is nearly undefeatable, and they’ve spent hours and hours and days and months and years building it up and breaking it down and building it back up again. 

and then they’re third years and on the edge of the end and they’re more comfortable on the court than they’ve ever been, more comfortable in their skin than they’ve ever been.

there are days where tooru hunches over on the bench and stares at his shoes, laces half tied and hands slack in his lap, days where he doesn’t text back for hours at a time, and then there are days where he walks with a spring in his step and a smile on his face and lights up like a goddamn firework on the court, days where he’s unstoppable, unbeatable, where he tosses and hajime spikes and the cogs in their little machine turn and turn and turn perfectly. 

and it’s perfect, it’s so perfect, he’s flying out of bounds to keep the ball in the air and he points at him, at him, and hajime runs and he hits with everything he has and it’s so so perfect, he can see it all in slow motion. 

later, later, minutes later, the ball hits the ground for the last time. that’s in slow motion too.

they lose.

and oikawa stands up straight and shakes hands with that other captain, slaps iwaizumi on the back with that unshakable reassurance, and he dries his tears because this is it and he’s not gonna let the idiot keep his cool better than him. 

(later, later, hours later, oikawa’s fist slams hard against the locker, the resounding clang vibrating up his arm and into the air of the almost empty locker room, but he doesn’t cry. 

he grins. 

“i failed,” he says, “i failed so bad, but that was the best last game i could’ve asked for. thank you.”)

(and later, later, hours after that, he says, he whispers: “this is it.” spread out on the grass under the stars like they’re in middle school again. 

“huh?” hajime glances over at him, “no it’s not, you still have college, and—“

“this is it,” louder this time, “it won’t be the same.” 

it… won’t be. it won’t be the same team, the same people, won’t be the same sense of unity. it won’t be the same team. and tooru doesn’t have to say anything because hajime knows, he always knows. 

“this is it,” hajime says, “but we had the best goddamn years of our lives.”

he hears tooru laugh, a little watery, “yeah.”

this is it, and hajime smiles.)

 

 


End file.
